


DamijonWeek2019 Day Six: Angel/Demon

by HappyDamijon



Series: DamijonWeek2019 [5]
Category: Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: A bit sad, Alternate Universe, Angel!Damian, Angel/Demon, Angst, Damijonweek, Damijonweek2019, Day Six, M/M, cuz why not, demon!Jonathan, maybe? - Freeform, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-11 22:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17455112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyDamijon/pseuds/HappyDamijon
Summary: DamijonWeek2019 Day Six: Angel/DemonJon was beautiful. His skin, a mix of blue, red and purple; a trail of scales here and there. He had decent sized horns, the beginning of them covered by his brown hair. His hands were always softer, less harsh than other demons. He had muscle too, a healthy demon, who was regularly active. His tail was limp behind him, his back curved as he bent toward the water, let it run through his hands as well. Of course he had taken his shirt off, never one to be shy around Damian. Damian, who had to be learning about the Scriptures, but instead was skipping lessons to teach a demon about acreek. Soon after that realization, he had left, only bothering to go out with Jon three or four more times before Jon was locked up two months ago.Or:A sad thing that I probably shouldn't have written, but you should still read hehe





	DamijonWeek2019 Day Six: Angel/Demon

**Author's Note:**

> DamijonWeek2019 Day Six: Angel/Demon
> 
> this world is very different to what we consider angels and demons...especially considering I made jon the demon because I'm like terrible at just writing something simple and normal. basically in a world where there are ppl and then two types of spiritual beings that kinda represent a hierarchy, angels=big bosses and demons=Stereotyped at bad guys. Or something. 
> 
> Alsoooo maybe to make this a bit more dramatic, you could listen to The Birds by Apparatjik because that's what I listened to on repeat while writing this.
> 
> (I knooooow I’ve written too much angst but I promise this is the last of it!!!)

He doesn't care much for the demon. 

It's not like Jon is special. He isn't an overly good soul; he's the one that disrupted Damian from his duties. He's the one that introduced things like _fun_ and _procrastinating_. He's the one that would pull Damian away from the temple, dragging him by the arm, his tail jumping in excitement along with him. He's gotten Damian into trouble more than once. Damian has tried not to associate himself with Jon more than once. 

But he isn't evil. Jon will never be evil. Damian knows that there's a part in Jon that may be better than most Angels. 

That's why he needs to break him out. 

The guard lets him into the jail cells without much question. It's a perk with being a bit higher up in the order, his wings noticeably bigger, his halo noticeably brighter. The added bread was also a plus, of which the guard naively took, already munching on it before Damian was out of ear shot. 

It's dark down here. His halo is able to illuminate a good few feet ahead of him, but he can't see who is inside which cell, unless he wants to get too close. They say that demons see best in the dark, but Jon's only ever visited him during the day. His hand follows the wall, in search for the switch that controls the light. They do this on purpose, to confuse the demons; to hurt their eyes when the room suddenly bursts with light, momentarily blinding them and likely causing pain. 

Strange noises, some of them make. There are fake cries, Damian only able to discern the real from the fake though years of practice. Some sound like grown woman, pleading for help, while others cry like a newborn baby, as if it was abandoned. They can lure any person willing to be helpful. They have. 

He continues further down. He hopes he'll find Jon soon. He doesn't have much time. His father will soon be wondering why Damian isn't tending to his duties, and the laced bread he had offered the guard will only subdue him for a mere ten minutes. 

He finds the switch. He hears groans, the demons probably watching him, preparing themselves. He bites his cheek, then switches it on. 

Demons cry out. Some Angels look at him in disdain as he makes his way through the cells. He's careful not to yell out Jon's name. If anyone happens to know Jon, they may change their appearance--or worse, Jon will change his appearance, because he'll know why Damian is here. He'll know what Damian wants to do, and he won't approve, but Damian has to try. He has to give Jon a chance. 

Angels reach out to him through the bars, pleading. Some demons continue to cover their eyes, while others sit miserably, not bothering to give him a single glance. That's how he finds Jon, slumped against a wall, his head in between his knees, his hair having grown in the past few weeks. Two months. 

Damian hesitates, his voice caught in his throat. His chest clenches. He doesn't have time to be emotional. He needs to get Jon out of here. 

He taps the bars. Jon looks up, his face weary. Then his eyes widen, his body unfolding, standing in nothing but a small cloth wrapped around his waist to keep some form of modesty. 

"Damian?" Jon says, furrowing his brows. His lips are dry, covered in visible cracked skin. His voice is harsh, as if he hasn't spoken since he's been in here. He looks thinner, his ribs almost entirely protruding. Damian never had much of an opinion on the conditions here, perhaps even leaned more in favor of this sort of treatment towards criminals, but not _Jon_. 

He pulls the keys out of his pocket. The guard isn't a very smart Angel. 

Jon looks at them, frowning. He needs to hurry, before the other prisoners begin to notice and make a ruckus. If Damian's right, they still have a good five minutes. That's enough time to get out of here, run off to the woods and take the wagon Damian has stationed there. They can run away, make their way to Livikka, their safest bet. It would take a good three months, especially on foot, but it would be possible as long as they stay low. The next town over, Girtund, is large and they can easily blend in. No doubt the Angels would look for them there, but they should only stay for a night, then head West for Yunghi, then NorthWest towards the ocean, where they can probably hop onto a boat towards Dregdan and then walk barefoot for a few weeks to Rhiasha before they can build a wagon for Livikka. 

"No," Jon whispers. 

Damian blinks, his heart stopping momentarily. He may not...care for this demon, but he is undeserving of his punishment. Death is _not_ his fate. 

"Come with me," Damian says, breathless. He leans in close, his nose passing the bars. He grips them, his heart beginning to race. "Come with me. You must. I have a wagon, waiting for us in the woods. There's a sufficient amount of food and water to last us—"

"I said _no_ , Damian," Jon says. His eyes are dark, the pockets underneath them purple, appearing bruised. He hasn't been sleeping, either. Damian's mouth goes dry. He can feel his face heating, anger flaring. 

"This isn't a _test_ ," Damian says, close to snarling. "We don't have _time_. We need to leave, now." He looks down, his hands shaking as he takes the lock, the key unsteady as he attempts to put it inside. He's shaking too hard. 

A thin malnourished hand covers his own. He stares at it, realizes how steady it looks, how ridiculous his white convulsing hand looks underneath. Jon's somehow warm, his fingers soft as they land on his. Jon doesn't usually touch him. Damian doesn't usually let him. 

"No," Jon repeats. Damian doesn't want to look at him. _How could he_? After all the trouble Damian is going through? After all they have made Jon go through?

"You're innocent," Damian grits out. Tears threaten to spill, his gaze still focused on Jon's steady hand, on top of his own shaking one. "You're _innocent_."

"The Court says I'm not. Someone has to pay, Damian," Jon says calmly. Damian clenches his jaw. He screws his eyes shut, swallowing down an insult. Swallowing down a rant they don't have time for. 

"You didn't do it. I _know_ you. If you weren't a demon they wouldn't have—you wouldn't _be here_."

For years, he never thought those words would leave his mouth. He never wanted to admit he was friends with Jon; with a demon. Angels and demons don't mix. They don't interact much. Angels are far more superior, far better than the average dumb demon, who is incapable of understanding the complex ways of life for a human. Angels are good for humans, demons are not. And...Damian believes this, for the most part. It's partially true, for the _majority_ , but Jon. He's always been different. He was never too dumb in Damian's eyes, maybe at times ignorant, but he could learn, and he was eager. He's smart. He's a good demon. A good _being_. 

Jon squeezes his hand, possibly in comfort. It only serves to further anger the Angel. 

"Damian," Jon says softly. Damian fists his hands. He leans against the bars. The dirty bars Jon is behind, only a lock away. He scrunches his face, clenching his jaw even harder. "Damian...it's alright. You know, I've lived a good life. With you. I'm glad. I'm glad I spent most of my years with you. You've taught me so much." Damian wishes he can somehow turn his hearing off. He doesn't want to hear _this_. He moves his hands, trying to unlock it again. Jon's grip tightens, stopping Damian. Finally, the Angel looks at him, betrayed. 

Jon's close, his eyes too sincere. He's looking at all of Damian, his mouth parted, a single tear going down his cheek. Damian's eyes well up with tears suddenly, and then he can't control it anymore, and they fall one by one, like a waterfall. 

"Don't," Damian says, pleading. He doesn't do this. Jon knows this. He knows Damian doesn't go after people, doesn't _plead_. Doesn't attempt to break laws. 

"A part of me thought I wouldn't see you ever again. It's silly," Jon says, chuckling softly. He's crying more, too, but Damian's tears fall quicker, harder. A mix of anger and remorse. "I thought—I was thinking to myself, your last memory of me would be of me making a fool of myself. Of course. Per usual, I guess. But. I—I had hoped it would have been different. Maybe when we were older...way older."

Damian never bothered to think that far, at least for the two of them. He's such a fool. He never appreciated their time together. He never appreciated Jon. 

There was a moment, not too long ago, where Damian began to question himself. He's always indulged the demon, despite his words, and this day was almost like any other. It would be about six months ago, from now. Jon, curious about the world underwater, in a creek nearby. Damian had sat, patiently retelling the history of the creek, how it came to be, how many animals come to visit and when. Jon had sat by the creek, his toes in the water, fascinated. Damian never spent much time really looking at Jon, and there was something in that moment that caused him to slowly stop talking, and just _look_. Jon was beautiful. His skin, a mix of blue, red and purple; a trail of scales here and there. He had decent sized horns, the beginning of them covered by his brown hair. His hands were always softer, less harsh than other demons. He had muscle too, a healthy demon, who was regularly active. His tail was limp behind him, his back curved as he bent toward the water, let it run through his hands as well. Of course he had taken his shirt off, never one to be shy around Damian. Damian, who had to be learning about the Scriptures, but instead was skipping lessons to teach a demon about a _creek_. Soon after that realization, he had left, only bothering to go out with Jon three or four more times before Jon was locked up two months ago. 

Such a damn fool. 

Jon's voice continues. "You know, I used to think we'd end up together. Stupid, right? You deserve so much more. Maybe it's better like this. I won't live a life of hopeless pining. You wouldn't want that, right?"

Something catches at his throat. _Don't say those kind of things_ , he almost says. 

"I'm _here_ , Jon. That should say enough," he says instead. 

They don't have much time. 

"That's the thing. For once, I knew something before you did, Damian."

_Impossible_ , he thinks. 

_Don't say it_ , comes next. 

He always holds back. 

"You love me. And that's okay. I love you too. And—the thing is, I know what's best for you—"

Saying it out loud doesn't hurt as much as Damian thought it would. It could be because there's no point in getting angry, with Jon already behind bars. There's no point in denying it, when Jon's going to die.

"And you—you _dying_ is what's best for me?" He says, glaring through his wet lashes. Jon smiles.

"...You deserve _so much more_. So much more than I can ever give you. No matter what, Damian, this is my destiny. I'm meant to die, and I'm okay with that."

How could he? How could he disregard Damian like that, as if nothing else matters but his own thoughts? As if Damian would somehow be okay when Jon dies. Damian will never be okay. He can't let this happen. He doesn't care what anyone else things anymore. He doesn't care about positions or orders; stigmas that have been proven time and time again untrue. He doesn't want to follow orders if it means getting rid of the only true friend he's had.

"I'm not!" He yells, slamming his fists against the bars, causing them to rattle loudly. Jon's hand grips his own, the key secured in Damian's palm. Jon moves it towards his pocket, shoving both their hands inside, the key now back to being hidden in Damian's clothes. Jon clasps their fingers, holding his hand, the key burning against both their palms. 

"Hey!" The guard yells. "What's going on here?"

"Don't go to the execution, Damian," Jon says quickly. "That is my one and only request." He then leans in, kissing Damian for the first time. 

Damian savors it, squeezing his eyes shut. The guards steps come closer, his yelling getting louder. 

Jon shoves him away. He lands on the floor, stunned. Jon is facing the guard, his back straight, left hand up. 

The key is in his hand. 

"You!" The guard yells. He calls for others, and Damian watches in confusion as ten to fifteen Angels come rushing in, the entire building growing louder and louder with voices and screaming. Two guards pick him up, one woman asking if he's okay. 

"I saw the poor fellow being assaulted," A guard says. The first one. The one that saw them. The woman forces him to walk away, her grip on him hard. "The dirty demon forced his hands on him. There isn't much we can do, though. He's being executed tonight."  

"Thank goodness," the woman says, rubbing Damian's back.

Damian hears Jon scream from afar. She rubs his neck. 

"One less demon to worry about." 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry :(  
> Hopefully y'all...enjoyed? 
> 
> (tho in my head I imagine Damian saving Jon last minute. Taking him right before his execution on a white horse and Jon smiling and crying when Damian tells him he's never letting him go and they kiss as they ride off into the sunset, on their way to pretend to be human beings in their sanctuary, Livikka)


End file.
